Could you be the next Rebecca Black? Teen Vogue gets the real story on the music production companies that have made superstars out of regular teens.

After appearances on The Tonight Show and other high-profile programs, "Friday" singer Rebecca Black (center) was the target of hateful comments on the web.

Lady Gaga and Simon Cowell have called her "a genius." Yet, YouTube commenters have hurled insults at her, like "I hope you get an eating disorder so you look pretty." It seems as though the public can't figure out what to make of "Friday" singer Rebecca Black.

In January, Rebecca, an eighth grader from Orange County, California, whose musical career had been limited to occasional parts in school plays and stints at performance-arts summer camp, paid Ark Music Factory, a local music production company, a reported $2,000 to record two prewritten, auto-tuned pop singles.

Over a month later, "Friday" went viral on YouTube—garnering more than 44 million hits within a week—and Rebecca became famous almost overnight, booking gigs on The Tonight Show and Good Morning America. As her star continues to rise ("Friday" on the prom episode of Glee, anyone?)—and other YouTube sensations spring up all over the country—her legacy has become even more unclear. Is Rebecca a flash in the pan who paid for fifteen minutes of fame, or is she an enduring talent who has pioneered the new formula for pop superstardom?

It depends on whom you ask. According to Ark founder and CEO Patrice Wilson, the answer, unsurprisingly, is the latter. Wilson's company—which Rebecca heard about through a classmate—helps performers "make their dreams come true," he says.

Wilson, once an aspiring singer, writes all the music, and his services include image consulting, photo shoots, studio time, and a song selection—all for an up-front tab that runs somewhere between $2,000 and $4,000.

But that won't necessarily get you closer to a Grammy, says Peter M. Thall, a music-industry lawyer and author of What They'll Never Tell You About the Music Business (Billboard Books/Random House). "Rebecca may have the momentary success she's enjoying now, but her long-term prospects for a recording career will likely be limited," he says. "Early success from such a simple song is risky."

Even the promise of short-term fame, however, is good enough for some. Jenna Rose, a twelve-year-old from Dix Hills, New York, became famous with her song "My Jeans" in the wake of "Friday." "I went to bed one night with 5,000 hits on YouTube and woke up with 60,000," says the seventh grader. "I was at the mall yesterday, and people recognized me. Eighth graders who didn't know my name are now talking to me at school." Still, while both her and Rebecca's songs might seem as though they were easy to record, "it's harder than it looks," Jenna says. "You have to practice, practice, practice."

So far, Rebecca is Ark's biggest breakout success story—as of press time, Forbes estimated that she had earned approximately $20,000 from video ad revenue alone—and there are several others who hope to eventually achieve the same level of fame. Abby Victor, a fourteen-year-old member of Ark's talent roster, moved to a studio apartment in Los Angeles from her native New Mexico with her mother five years ago to pursue a career in showbiz. To date, her video, "Crush on You," has received more than 3 million hits on YouTube—an impressive number, though nowhere near the success of "Friday."

Regardless, she and her mother are satisfied Ark customers. "They're awesome," Abby says. "They give you support." Wilson, for his part, insists that his company won't take on an artist who he doesn't think has a shot at making it, explaining that he puts all potential clients through a rigorous three-part screening process to see if they have "that spark."

Advanced-fee-payment arrangements like the ones Abby and Rebecca entered into with Ark aren't the only options for aspiring artists. One popular alternative is a contract that requires no money upon signing but has a binding agreement to ensure the production company a cut of any future profits. That's the type of agreement eighteen-year-old aspiring performer Sizzy Rocket signed with a production company based in Los Angeles. "I felt more comfortable giving no money," she says. "We're in this together."

Thall, however, recommends being wary of these sorts of arrangements. "You can sign something, and these companies own you and won't let you grow as an artist," he says. (All contracts have a certain level of associated risk—Rebecca's parents are unhappy with the one they signed and filed a lawsuit against Ark in April for copyright infringement and unlawful exploitation of their daughter's likeness.)

Of course, using a production company isn't the only route. There's also the old-fashioned way of getting the attention of the right person and, with no intermediary, landing a record deal. But the traditional way, though respected, can be difficult. "These days record companies want you to come premade and prepackaged. They want you to be an immediate success," says Amanda Duncan, a New Jersey–based singer-songwriter who has been pursuing a professional music career for the past five years. Amanda hasn't gotten signed to a label yet, but she has been able to quit her day job and pursue singing full-time with the gigs she books. "That's certainly satisfying for me," she says.

Thall recommends an even more conventional path that involves getting a traditional music education and waiting to break into the industry after the age of 21. "You need to learn about life before you can become a meaningful artist," he says. But there's a definite difference between wanting to be an artist and just seeking fame. In fact, Thall isn't completely critical of Ark and companies like it. "It really depends on what your goals are," he says. "If your parents have the money and you are looking for a little adventure, then this is great."